Not Quite Old Friends
by Blue Star Galaxy
Summary: Angel and Spike work out issues... or try to, or something. Chapter 6 up! Already! It's a miracle!
1. Meeting

**Disclaimer: **None of this belongs to me, it belongs to Joss Almighty. 

**A/N:** I know there have been more scenes written after her funeral than apocalypses (and my computer thinks _that's_ the way to spell the plural of apocalypse) in the series, but I had to do it. I just love seeing Spike and Angel together. Their relationship is so interesting, at least in my mind. They hate each other now, and that was before they both liked Buffy, but they were together for so long… and I don't mean that in a slashy way. Not my style. Still, this is part of my attempt to puzzle that relationship out. 

One last thing: if Angel seems slightly OOC, I'm sorry. I kept hearing Mal from Firefly as I was writing him, for some reason.  I almost had him saying the word "notion" at one point. I think I fixed the worst of it, though.  So, enough of me – on with the story.

Spike didn't quite dare approach her.  Instead, he hid behind a line of bushes, watching, ready to flee if she spotted him.  The longer he watched, the more certain he become she had no clue as to her surroundings.  

He relaxed marginally, and settled down to wait.  If Buffy left, he would visit the grave.  If something came, he would kill it.  Nothing was going to disturb Joyce while he was here.  If nothing happened, he would sit, keeping his own vigil, just as the Slayer did, an unknowing ten meters away.  

A figure moved behind Buffy, a piece of the darkness detaching itself from the night and floating over.  Spike tensed and started to get up, then recognized the form and froze.  He sat, unmoving, as Angel wrapped his arms around her intimately.

"I came as soon as I could," he murmured, voice unintentionally carrying to Spike's ears.  He stared as Buffy put her hands on his, leaning back into his embrace wearily.

"I'm glad you came."

That was _his_ place, now! Or it should be! Angel left, two years ago.  If he wasn't going to stick around to try and make things work, he didn't deserve to come back and be treated like he was still her trusted lover and friend, instead of the demon who'd tried to murder her and all of her friends, not to mention everything else in the world.  Spike felt the jealous anger surge up in him, but the expression still on his face was shock when Angel lifted his head and caught sight of Spike's white face from behind the bushes.  

His face tightened, but he gave no other impression that he'd seen the younger vampire.  He led Buffy over to a nearby oak, and she settled comfortably into his side.  

Spike watched, like a driver who must slow down to view the carnage after a horrible automobile accident.  He was mesmerized.  He watched them talk for hours, catching only snatches of conversation, wondering at what he heard.  He hadn't known she felt so much about so many things.  He'd _wanted_ to know, but she wouldn't talk to him…

He caught his own name once, and perked up his ears.  He was surprised, and pleased, to see her smile wryly as she said his name, then hurt when that expression changed to one of disgust when she recounted the tale of his capture and chaining of her.  Did she have to keep bringing that up?  It had been a _mistake_, didn't any of them see that?  He knew that now, they could just… let it go.  She shook her head soon after, and they moved on to another topic.  Spike was disappointed.  He wanted to hear what Angel would have said about him, and what Buffy would have replied.  But the older vampire merely glanced up briefly toward his bush, and agreed, and they switched back to Glory.  

It wasn't until she kissed him that Spike turned away, face contorted with the effort of keeping his tears in.  It was just too much in one night.  Joyce's funeral, the poof back, Buffy _kissing_ him… he couldn't take any more.  

It was nearing dawn when the grass crunched underfoot, and Angel stepped around the bush line.  Spike didn't look up, face wet and drawn.

"What are you doing here?" he asked quietly.

"What do you care?" Spike spat out.  "No need to worry 'bout the Slayer, now she's back in your bloody arms."

"Buffy can take care of herself.  My involvement is not the issue."

Spike snorted.  "Well who d'you think she's gonna turn to, now soldier boy's gone?"

"Spike, I'm here because she needs a friend, not a lover.  You'd do well to understand that."

"What d'you think I've been _trying_ to do!?" he exploded, breath catching in a sob.  "I've _tried_ to be there for her, help her, I even played nice with her friends!  It's not my fault!  If the bint would just –"

"If you call her that again, I will snap your neck," he asserted calmly.

"See? I said that to a demon who was insulting her, two weeks ago! These things are supposed to get around –"

"Spike."  Years of subjection to the older vampire made him stop, mid-sentence.  "I don't know what you've fooled yourself into thinking your relationship with the Slayer is, but let me enlighten you: She will kill you, if she ever decides you are in the least harmful.  She is not your crush, girlfriend, lover, or even friend.  She is your enemy.  If you go near her again, I will kill you for her.  Understood?"  There was something of Angelus in the way those cold, dark eyes bored into his, and Spike was angry to feel himself giving way.

He sat on the ground, sulking, swiping tears away angrily, and didn't reply.

"William?" he asked softly.  Spike shivered.  That was the scary tone of voice.  Combined with his given name, it meant danger, pain, and very soon, if he didn't answer.  He'd learned that from over a hundred years with Angelus.  Among other things.  

"I tried," he attempted to explain.  "I didn't want to love her.  I wanted to kill her.  I tried to, to make the feelings stop.  If I could leave, I would.  I tried… just couldn't."

Angel watched him for a long moment.  "You're weak, William," he said at last before walking away.  

Spike stared at the ground for another few minutes.  "I know," he whispered, before pushing himself up and heading back to his crypt.  He entered just before the sun peeked over the horizon.


	2. Angel

**A/N: **I wasn't going to include this chapter, but I was taking a break from the Spike one and re-reading the first.  As I watched Angel walk away, I knew that wasn't really my version of Angel, so I had to explain him.  Then, it also explained why Angel returned better. I know there are die-hard Spike fans who would rather Angel go to hell – _again_.  But there are also those of us who love both of them.  This story is for both of the gorgeous blood sucking fiends – though I do freely admit to liking Spike better. 

"You're weak, William."  The sentence tasted bitter in his mouth as he walked away.  There was a sheet of icy anger across his mind, which he worked to clear as he moved.  He didn't like it.  He could stand boiling anger, rage, but the cold fury he'd felt while talking to Spike disturbed him.  It felt too much like Angelus, and that was enough to leave him shaken.  He wasn't that cruel, anymore.

_I'm not_, he insisted to the accusing silence in his mind.  He sighed shakily, and settled down just outside the cemetery to wait a few minutes.  Now, just before the sun rose, the sewers would be more crowded than he'd like.  They'd clear out in a few minutes, as vampires made their mad dashes to deserted building, crypts, or caves.  Angel had extra time.  He was heading to the mansion, and the building cast a long shadow, covering the manhole he would use until almost seven.  It was only 5:15, and the sun had another twenty minutes to rise.  

He rubbed his face tiredly.  Why was he so worked up about seeing Spike?  The vampire wasn't a real threat, even when he hadn't had his chip.  Especially to Angel. It had shocked him out of his mind when Spike had betrayed him as Angelus.  Not because he had had so much trust in him, but because the younger vampire had always submitted to him.  He should have been too scared of Angelus to have even thought of betraying him.  Angel had started to re-think that submission, but eventually reached almost the same conclusion.  Spike was still terrified of him; he had just learned to work past it.  

But a love-crazed Spike… so the fool was finally over Drusilla?  That, too, was something he'd never have thought possible.  But the Slayer? He had to admit, the two had their similarities – unorthodox, impulsive, immature… but there was the whole issue of him having killed two Slayers.  Also, Buffy would never see him.  

Angel got up, slipped into the tunnels, and made his way toward the mansion.  The itching feeling of the rising sun ceased as he entered the sewers.  He made sure he had a stake at the ready, in case he ran into any vampires who remembered him.  He tended not to be too popular with the evil of Sunnydale.

That made him think, as he absently kept an eye out for those who meant him ill.  What was Spike doing these days?  If he was helping Buffy, as she said he was, he couldn't be too popular with most of the demon population, either.  And Spike wasn't one for the lone wolf deal.  He had to have a pack to run with.  Which made Angel finally realize who he had selected for his pack: the Scoobies.  

The concept threw him for a moment.  But he knew Spike, and if he was fighting with them, he was siding with them – and for as long as he had known him, that meant he was working with them.  Not that Spike worked well in groups, but he would fit himself into one anyway, and do his part, as he saw it.  

A short, punky looking girl passed him, and he hunched over, trying to look inconspicuous.  Buffy had told him once that that was impossible – he could prowl, skulk, creep, lurk, or anything else, but once someone saw him, that was it: he was spotted.  Apparently, she didn't think he blended well.  The vampire gave him a curious look as she passed, and he reached unobtrusively up his sleeve.  The rest of the tunnel was empty, and her back was to him.

He slid the stake back up his sleeve, and continued walking.  One more down.  

So what was Spike up to? Why was he running with the good guys, instead of fighting them? How had he gotten in with Buffy, anyway?  He supposed he understood how Spike had fallen for her, once he'd seen her.  He knew exactly how that was.  He even almost understood what he'd said about not leaving.  He'd had a hard enough time convincing himself when it was time to go.  He still hated the vampire.  He also wasn't quite ready to kill him.  

He reached the tunnel that turned off to the mansion, and turned, still thinking.  He'd killed Darla.  And she'd been his lover.  But Spike was… well, incompetent had always been the word of choice.  He just didn't feel justified in killing him, yet.  _You don't need justification.  He's a vampire_, he warned himself.  _What else is there?_  There was a lot, he was uncomfortable to discover.  He headed home to puzzle it out.

He pulled himself out of the manhole, and walked swiftly to the door.  He was in deep shadow, but the sun was up, and he felt itchy, and uncomfortable.  He was about to pull open the door when he heard voices from inside.  He peered in through the window.  _Damn._  He'd forgotten to ask Buffy if anyone had taken over the old mansion.  It had been stupid of him to assume it was still empty.  There was a whole nest of vampires inside.  He felt mildly indignant.  They had trashed the place.  He hadn't had much, really, and had taken anything he really cared about – but it was still his place, and it was a mess.  

He sighed, and turned around, dropped back underground and pulled the cover across, sealing out the sun.  Where to go?  He didn't fancy sitting in the sewers all day.  He didn't feel comfortable going back to Buffy's.  She had enough to deal with, and there were still mixed opinions of him, he knew, among the gang.  

Well, they did have to talk.  He steeled himself and headed back the way he had come.  William the Bloody was going to have a visitor.   


	3. Spike

"You're weak, William."  

The words rang in his mind, echoing.  Spike drifted off in his thoughts, losing track of the year.  It was Angel, now; it was Angelus, over a century ago.  It was always the same.  He was part of the group, but he wasn't.  He knew perfectly well that Darla and Angelus looked down their noses at him.  Both of them had been rich and powerful while living, and that had started the entire cycle.  His family had done well enough, but powerful he wasn't.  He was a weakling, and he knew it. And no matter how  much being a demon changed him, it could never raise him high enough in their eyes.  Dru… she was just bonkers. But she didn't see class in her insanity, and perhaps that was why he was drawn to her.  The one in the group who didn't see him as incompetent.  He knew she was insane, but she was beautiful, and she was the one for him at the time.  He loved her.  

But the other two looked down at him, and he felt it, wherever they went.  He wasn't sure why he stayed, at first.  Perhaps it was because while he knew they didn't like him, they let him stay.  He was part of the group, all the same.  They were family, even if they didn't like him much.  Darla was a cold bitch, cruel as anything and mean to the bone.  Angelus was as bad, if not worse.  While Darla looked down at him and tended to ignore him, Angelus never ignored him.  

That had its pros and cons.  Angelus was his father, his older brother, never quite his friend.  His co-worker, his boss, his accomplice – well, Spike was usually Angelus' accomplice – comrade, ally, partner.  Also, his torturer, and something more.  If he ever stepped out of line, Angelus made sure he knew it, fast.  And the line was re-drawn whenever Angelus felt like it.  Is Spike failed to pay close enough attention, Angelus made sure he did.  He taught him everything he needed to know about the world of vampires, demons, and darkness: the rules of how vampires fed and lived; the myths, which were true and which weren't; magic, and how it worked.  And he showed him more: Angelus showed him the ropes.  He showed him which demons to know and which to steer clear of; the more subtle skill involved in not killing, but turning, a victim.  And more things to do before the blood was drained.  He showed him a whole new set of social graces, never learned in any courtesy school he'd ever seen before.  Mainly because none of those things were courteous.  

And Spike drank it all in.  Perhaps it was something left over from his curiosity as a human, his intense interest in certain aspects of his culture, but if someone was going to teach him, he was going to learn.  And he did.  Angelus was somewhere near godhood in Spike's mind.  The beatings Spike took as they came, having discovered that the lessons continued afterward.  He never received praise from Angelus.  Acceptance, though.  Somewhere, he had earned that.  Angelus would never admit it or allow Spike to admit it, but there came a time when Angelus would listen to his opinion.  Criticize it, and hardly ever follow the idea – but he would listen.  It was a continuation of their lessons that Spike relished.  

And yet, underlying the worship and eager learning, there was always the rebellious part of him that resented the superior attitude he and Darla had.  It was that that made him take the cocky accent, the punk name.  It was why he made sure to dress up less, act out more wildly – stand out as much as possible.  He knew it drove Darla and Angelus mad, and it amused him no end.  He learned quickly the easiest way to push Angelus' buttons.  It become a game.  The older vampire  was a cold, heartless monster, and he never lost control of anything, least of all himself.  He was unpredictable, which made learning the game difficult.  But Spike just learned to predict all of his possible responses, and anticipate them all, always looking for the one where he yelled, lost his temper, got angry.  Spike loved getting that reaction.  And Angelus knew it, which made the game that much harder – but never impossible.  The wilder Spike acted, the more annoyed he could get Angelus.  And over it all, he delighted in the fact that as mad as he got them, they never threw him out, and he always shared in the kill. 

Angelus may not have liked him, but he kept him, and somewhere, that sorted itself out in Spike's mind as being equal.  And now it was the same thing with Buffy.  She didn't like him.  He knew that, but she kept him around.  She'd told him to leave, but never enforced it.  She threatened his undead life, but never staked him.  And that meant acceptance in his mind.  He would stay.  

And the whole time, he knew it was wrong.  It was wrong of him to fight on the side of good, it was stupid of him to stay with people who didn't appreciate him – and he did it all the same.  And now he had fallen for Buffy, and he couldn't leave, no matter how many good reasons he was given for leaving.  

"You're weak, William."  The words echoed a final time. 

"I know," he whispered out loud.  He headed back to his crypt.  It didn't change anything.  He would still stay.  Angelus – and Angel – be damned. 

*Okay, now they talk. God, this is fun, but hard because I feel like I'm babbling, and I think I am, but when I read my babble, it sounds good. This wasn't meant to have much of a plot – more a series of reflections, and I don't always know quite where I'm going.  Oh, well – I'm finding out as I go, and it's interesting to me, at least.  Keep the reviews coming! And thank you, Anne Rose, sunkissedface, Tariq, and Ao Tianrong!


	4. Second Meeting

**A/N: **I realized the other night that I was having serious subtraction issues.  If Spike was turned in 1880, and Angel left the gang as early as 1900, that's only twenty years as a group. I was saying stuff about a century. Heh. Just kidding. I don't know what I was thinking. (It felt like longer to him, all right?)

Ah! It gets so sappy!  And this should have been up three days ago, but there were problems with the server.  So, um, here goes:

Spike lay on top of the coffin, not having the state of mind to go downstairs.  It was silent, sealed, as he was, inside the tomb.  That was good. He let the silence echo through his mind, taking up the space he didn't want to take up with thinking.  

He heard the movement a second before his door was thrown open, and was rolling to the ground before the cloaked figure was fully inside.  Even as he hit the ground, landing in a fighting stance, he was already easing back up, having identified the intruder, by something that was not quite the intimate knowledge he had of Angel's smell, sounds, and movements.  It was something a little more.

He got his first good look at the other vampire as he leaned against the door, pushing it closed, and almost grinned, despite his mood.  While Spike was not above looking a little foolish every now and then, Angel just wasn't the type to go running around in daylight with his coat pulled over his head.  He looked plain undignified.  Spike settled for a smirk while Angel brushed off his duster, ignoring the smoke that rolled off him.

"It's not funny," he said crossly without looking up.  "I almost combusted."

The smile dropped off Spike's face when the other spoke.  "Come off it.  What are you doing here?"

"There are vampires nesting in the mansion," he said calmly.  "I needed someplace to stay." He slipped off his duster, walking farther into the crypt.

"Well I'm not a bloody boarding house!" he snapped, annoyed at Angel's sure manner.  "If you want a safe house, go to Buffy's!"

"Also, we need to talk," he added as he dropped into Spike's easy chair.

That did it.  Spike stalked over and tipped the chair backwards in one savage hurl.  Angel did a neat flip back upright.

"First of all," he said hotly, "we do not need to talk. About anything.  Second of all, this is _my_ crypt. You can't walk in here like you own the bloody place. What you can do, is leave."  He glared at Angel, breathing hard.

Angel studied him for a minute.  If Spike had learned how to annoy Angelus, Angelus had also learned how to push Spike's buttons.  And Angel remembered perfectly.

"What?" Spike yelled, uncomfortable under his gaze.  "Get out, already!"

Angel leaned back against the wall, suddenly casual, and allowed his gaze to mercifully roam away from Spike.  "You ever think about when we used to run together, the four of us?"

Spike snorted, still wary.  "Not when I can help it, Peaches.  You an' the Ice Bitch? Not on my list of favorite people.  Dru an' I did better alone."

"Till she left you," he agreed mildly.

He caught the lightning punch Spike aimed at him easily, having been expecting it.  He held his wrist for a moment as Spike glared at him, hatred plain in his eyes.  Blue, though.  Not gold.  That interested Angel, but he put it aside for the moment.  "The rest of us never left you," he said softly.

Those eyes flashed angrily at him.  He'd forgotten how expressive the younger vampire was.  "Yes, you did," he said evenly, and Angel could hear the singular _you_ this time.  "You got your soul, and then you left."  His voice was low with accusation.

Angel released his wrist, and Spike jerked it away.  "You blame me for leaving?" he asked quietly.

"I didn't say anything about blame," he said bitterly.  "It was a simple statement."

"William, I-"

"Stop calling me that!" he cried, and for an instant Angel swore he saw tears in his eyes.  Spike turned and stalked off a few steps before swinging around to face him again.  "And, yes, it was your fault.  Neither Dru or I had any great love for your girl, and she could have cared less for us.  So Dru and I went off.  Two people isn't much company for a hundred years."

"Are you still lonely?"

Spike glared murder at him.  "What are you, a bloody shrink since you got your soul again?"

"It seemed an obvious question.  You said you didn't have much company, I only wanted to know –"

"No. You know what? I'm fine. I don't need anyone else right now.  Now go."

Angel looked at him, pokerfaced, feeling a small wash of pity inside.  He was lying, he knew.  And he wasn't even doing that good a job of it.  "Buffy lets you hunt with her, but they don't let you in, do they?  Granted, Xander's a moron, but Willow's not so bad, and- "

"I don't care about them."  

"Yeah," he agreed softly.  "But it hurts, doesn't it, when your own group wants to kill you."

Spike raised his head, glaring at him again.  "Fine.  You wanna play psych?  I'll go.  Why haven't you staked me already? Why are you still talking like I'm your soddin' childe, or any part of you anymore? You're lost, Angel.  A hundred years of having your soul back, and you still don't know who you are.  You pretend you're the good guy, you fight with them, but you're not really sure.  So you leave.  Then you set up your own shop in L.A.  Pretend you know what you're doin', now.  You don't.  You come back here, an' see how confused you are?  Don't know what you are to Buffy, don't know what to do with me.  You don't know anything."

Angel kept his voice soft.  "I know how it is to find people, or a person, and think you could fit in, but they don't."  He watched Spike a moment, the other looking back, pretending he didn't care.  "I know how it is when you're one person, but the group you're with can't see past who you were."

Spike looked stubborn.  "I'm still bad," he said unconvincingly.

"Who said I was talking about you?" He waited patiently for a reaction, and almost smiled when he saw it in Spike's eyes.  He was so easy to read.  

Spike kept playing, though, and didn't answer right away.  "That why you left us?" 

Angel gave an unamused laugh.  "You wouldn't have wanted me if you'd been able to see how I'd changed."

"True enough," he said easily.  "But then, you never tried explaining to anyone but your honey.  Ever think of telling me before you ran off for a hundred years?"  Angel noted with satisfaction that he had finally gotten him to use the personal singular form.

"We were both different people then," he pointed out.

"Yeah.  But not so different."  There was still anger left in those eyes.

"I'm here right now, aren't I?" Angel asked pointedly.

"You're here for Buffy, not me.  And I know full well you're leaving as soon as nightfall comes. So what's the point of all this?"

He hadn't known there was this much bitterness in the younger vampire.  And he wasn't comfortable with the idea that he had caused it.  Leaving that pack had been the one thing he had felt bad about that he hadn't also felt guilty over.  He'd thought it was just his own reluctance to leave what had become his family.  Hadn't realized until now that he hadn't been the only one hurt when he left the group.  He hadn't really thought about the others, then.  Darla could certainly take care of herself.  And Dru might as well have been tied to Spike.  He'd thought Spike would be fine, too.  Who was he kidding? He hadn't thought of Spike – or the others – at all.  Just that he couldn't do it anymore.  And so he left.  Hadn't stopped to think that when the patriarch left the family, and his mate wasn't a matriarch in any stretch of the word, the family collapsed.  And no matter how old the children were, they were hurt.

His eyes softened as he gazed at the still-angry look on Spike's face.  He understood all the clichés people used, suddenly, when they said their child would always be that to them: a child.  He looked at Spike, and he saw his childe.  Saw him when he was too young to even be called a fledgling, young and inexperienced and green as anything, and already wanting to change the world.  Fearless, powerful, and ready for anything.  Desperate to prove himself, throwing his heart into everything that he did, ignoring it if it didn't come out the way he wanted, pretending he already ruled the world, convincing most he did, anyway.  And by simply walking away from him, Angelus had left the biggest score on the vampire's heart.  It was a revelation.

"To tell you," he said, voice cracking a little, "that I'm sorry."

Spike's eyes clouded with suspicion.  "For what?"

"That I left.  Or that I didn't explain to you."  How did Spike do it?  Say what he felt like he did?  It was the hardest thing Angel could do, was admit his feelings.  How did his childe do it so easily?

"Even telling me would have been nice," he pointed out, not willing to accept the apology yet.  "You want to remember me next time, why don't you add this apology to your list I know you're keeping somewhere?"

"I- I'm sorry I hurt you, William."  Was that what he wanted?  He was sorry about the whole mess, but he certainly wasn't helping him rectify it.  And he had never forgotten about him.

Spike didn't say anything about being called William, this time.  Just looked at his grand-sire.  Or sire, as he'd always thought of him.  What was he supposed to do?  Angel would be leaving by night, anyway.  Real time to make up before then.  And the whole incident was long done.  But not over, and not forgotten.  Maybe that was the key.  But he didn't want an apology.  "I'm not givin' you absolution."

  "I've never asked for it.  Of anyone."  And he had a long list of people he wanted to apologize to.  Not that apology was enough.  Nor was it in this case. 

"What do you want?"  His voice was heavy.  "You came back here to talk.  What do you want?"

"I wanted to find out about you.  I needed to know who you are, now.  Needed to see how you'd changed."  Was he pleading?  To Spike?  He was telling the truth.  It was all he could do, now.

"Then why the apology?  Did you do this for you, Angel, one more thing off your chest?  Or me?"

Angel blinked.  And then, every now and then, his childe surprised him.  "For us," he answered honestly.  "Not for my conscience's sake, at least."

"Tell me the truth, Angel," he said, sounding angry again.  "Did you think of me _once_ in the last hundred years, until you saw me again in Sunnydale?"

"You were my childe, my family," he whispered.  "I thought of you every day."  He saw the tears form in Spike's fierce eyes.  "Do you think it was easy to leave you?  When I received my soul, it was the hardest thing I'd ever done not to run outside and let the sun raze me.  You have no idea what it's like for a vampire with a soul to run with the most vicious pack in Europe.  To hate myself for what I'd done, to hate myself for running with killers, and to be terrified to feel what I did without them.  Leaving you was the hardest thing I'd ever done, even past just living with myself."  He searched William's eyes.  "I wanted to go back every night.  Just to be with you, my family, the people I knew.  I  missed you."  He swallowed.  "I still miss you."

And that was it.  It had taken their whole encounter to say it, but it was done.  Spike looked ready to cry.  "Me, too.  You change packs, but… you never forget, huh?"

Angel just looked at him in silent agreement, gathering him in with his eyes.  "No matter how many times you change packs… we're still family, Will."

"S'kinda hard to forget."

They watched each other for a minute, and moved at the same time towards each other in an embrace.  They stood like that for a long time.

Finally, Spike stepped back, and the cocky look was back on his face.  "You know if you call me William in front of the Slayer and her gang I will be forced to stake you."

Angel laughed.  "Well if you hadn't picked a stupid name like Spike…"

"Oy!  This is my blood I was going to offer you.  Watch what you say about my choice of names."  He turned and headed for his stash.

"Ever think you'd be a regular at the butcher's?"  Angel inquired, righting the chair and dropping down into it again.

Spike tossed him a packet.  "Not in my wildest dreams.  But, you know, you can do a lot more with it this way."

Angel raised his eyebrows, tearing open the pack.  "Such as?"

"Well, you know, straight out of the victim's good, but you can't add marshmallows that way."

Angel stopped drinking the blood.  "Spike, that's so nasty I don't know what to say."

He grinned, and launched into a list of other things he'd tried in his blood.  The remainder of the morning passed comfortably, and the day was spent in sleep.  

**A/N:** Don't worry, there's one more chapter. See how my mind runs away with me? I meant this to be about Spike, and here most of it's Angel. I think. Whatever. Buffy in the next chapter! And thanks to everyone who's sent reviews.  You guys make me keep posting, and push me to actually finish this stuff.  Otherwise, I trail off and this would all have gotten lost in my mind, somewhere.  Next chapter up soon!


	5. Walk for Two

**A/N:** Heh, hi.  Remember me, the writer? Yeah, no offense taken if you don't, I know it's been forever.  I am so sorry about the long delay.  There really aren't any excuses for that long a time.  It just wouldn't get written, for various reasons.  The good news: there's more! Here it is! The bad news… there's going to be even more, and I can't promise when it's coming out.  I'd like to say chapter six will be up soon, but I don't want to make promises I can't keep. But it will be up eventually.  Thanks so much to Rogue Slayer, Iris, Jane Davitt, Jen (for so much, you know I wouldn't be right without someone as obsessed as I am to share it with), Anne Rose, Bonnie, FanFreak, babe, Ao Tianrong, Werewearer, Cabbage, Tariq, BriDget jones, and Arba for reviewing.  You guys are wonderful, and I apologize again for the long delay.

Angel was the first to wake that evening.  It was a strange sort of sensation.  The smells of a crypt were not unfamiliar to him, though it had never been his first choice of housing.  He knew, too, before he was even fully conscious again who else was in the room with him, and for a moment, it was as if the last hundred years had been some strange dream.  Then came the shift back to the present, and he opened his eyes.  His gaze immediately fell on the blonde vampire, hanging half off the bed, still asleep.  He smiled.  

            He stretched, able to feel, even through the think stone walls, the fading light.  He really couldn't stay away from L.A. for too long, despite his promise to Buffy to stay as long as she needed him.  If she did want him, he would stay, but he was scared of imposing, of overstaying his welcome.  Last night, they'd been able to pretend their history didn't exist, but their one kiss proved that things would just go wrong again if he stayed.  It was too hard to be together, and not be together.  He knew he wouldn't be able to control himself for too long, especially with her weakened by grief.  And they had been down that road before.  It only ended in disaster.

            Inhuman hearing caught a noise from upstairs; the heavy door had been pushed open, and someone with light steps was entering.  He got up quickly, stealing over to the ladder, and climbed up silently, peering cautiously over the top. 

            Buffy peered back at him, about to descend, clearly surprised.  "What are you doing here?"

            He looked up at her, startled.  "Sleeping."

            "With Spike?" she asked in skeptical disbelief.

            He was still staring at her.  "Yes."  Her forehead creased, and he suddenly heard what he'd said.  "I mean, _no_, I was… Buffy!"

            He climbed out of the ladder hole, and she backed out of his way, holding out a hand to help him up.  "Sorry," she murmured.  "I guess I didn't think about where you'd go for the day."

            "There were other vamps in the mansion," he explained, avoiding her eyes.  She nodded, and didn't say anything else, glancing around the crypt.  The silence began to stretch.

            "So what are you doing here?" he finally asked, looking at his hands.  

            "Oh, I just wanted Spike – to go patrolling – with me," she fumbled, and stopped talking again.

            "Oh," he managed to say, refraining from any comments. 

            There was a noise from the ladder, and a blonde head emerged from the underground area.  He eyed the two of them warily, distrust in his face.  "Hello."

              Angel grew very interested in the cracked floor, attempting to watch their reactions to the situation out of the corner of his eye.  His heart seized when he saw the relief on Buffy's face.  

            "Spike.  You're… okay?"  She tried not to let her gaze wander over to Angel, and didn't entirely succeed.  He grew indignant.  Did she really think he would just barge into Sunnydale and kill Spike for no reason?  

No, wait.  That was fair. 

            "Fine, pet.  How about you?" There was a softness in his voice that made Angel ache.  He knew that whatever Buffy might think of him, in Spike's mind, she was his.  For Angel, for once, it wasn't his girl he wanted to protect.  He loved her, but he knew her enough to know she could be vicious, especially if hurt.  And with Riley having just left, and the memory of him still lingering, she wasn't likely to harbor any kind feelings towards Spike.  

            But then… "I'll be okay," she replied just as softly.  He looked up incredulously, then ducked his head again, not wanting to break the moment, despite every protective impulse he had screaming at him to take her away from Spike.  He held off for a bit, letting them play it out.  But they were done, apparently, and Buffy was looking between him and Spike uncomfortably.

            "Did you want to come with us?" Buffy offered tentatively.

            Angel hesitated, raising his eyes to Spike's.  Dishing it out was one thing.  Actually working together, especially around the one person they would conflict over the most, was something else completely.  His childe dropped his gaze, frustration showing for an instant.

            "You two go," he muttered.  "I'll stay here, out of your way."

            Buffy looked confused, and a little hurt, and Angel looked at her helplessly.

            "Okay," she finally replied, coolly masking her emotions.  "Fine, then.  Angel?"  He turned, following her out of the crypt into the now-dark outdoors.

***********************************************************************************************

            It was busy enough for a while that they didn't have to talk much, which was good.  Most of the small talk had been eliminated the previous night, and that would have left them only with issues that needed to be examined, and which neither of them really wanted to go into.  But the action-filled silence was still eating away at Angel until finally, after a particularly impressive dusting by Buffy, he turned to her in exasperation as she brushed herself off.

            "You can't possibly not have anything to say about yesterday.  About everything."

            She looked up at him in shock.  "Me not say anything?  You're the one who hasn't mentioned anything about Spike hanging around for a year and a half now."

            They glared at each other for a minute, and then he sighed, running his hands through his hair.  "Fine.  Why haven't you just staked him?"

            "He can't hurt anybody," she defended herself, the timeworn excuse.

            "He could if he was any sort of good at planning ahead.  Since he mostly acts on impulse, which the chip controls, that mostly works out.  But, Buffy, if he ever decided to really take initiative, he could hurt a lot of people.  I should know."

            She sighed, then, too.  "I know.  I really do.  I just… he's harmless right now.  If I tried to kill him, he'd be helpless to stop me.  It'd just feel wrong."

            Angel didn't reply.  He couldn't say he disagreed, but he wasn't sure if he approved of her softness for him either.

            "Besides," she tried hopefully.  "He really is helpful – when he's not trying to get around the chip with failed plans and stuff, you know."

            He looked down at her, and she smiled ruefully.  "I don't know.  He just creeped me out with saying he loved me and everything.  I'm still not sure he wasn't just really drunk."

            "I don't think so," he told her quietly.

            "But he can be funny, and I know he's got my back, if only so he can kill me for his own the day he finally gets free.  He's the muscle of the group, when he's not getting knocked out… and I'm suddenly realizing there's a lot of exceptions to my pro-Spike list."

            Angel nodded, smiling again.  "I noticed that.  There are always are, where he's concerned."

            "So that's why you went to his crypt to spend the night even though he tried to kill you last time you met?"

            "He didn't try to kill me," he objected.  "He was torturing me to get information."

            "And that's acceptable?"

            He shrugged.  "For vampires."  They walked on for a bit, both half-listening for creatures of the night.

            "How long are you staying?" she finally asked, as if afraid of the answer.

            "I can't stay long," he replied honestly.  "But I'll make time for here as long as you need me."

            "I never wanted you to go, remember?" she asked.  

            "What about when I beat up your boyfriend?"

            She winced.  "Well what was I supposed to say?  Please, stick around?  We both knew you wouldn't –"

            " – Couldn't – "

            " – stay, and that would have gone over real well with Riley afterwards."

            "Sorry," he muttered.

            She heaved a sigh, sitting down on a nearby headstone.  "No, it was for the best." Then she frowned.  "Actually, I'm not sure that's true, being as he left too and everything… I mean, for God's sake, the guy was jealous of everything.  He said something to me about how much time I spent with Xander – I mean, with Anya watching over him, like he'd have been able to make a move on me if he'd wanted!  And he was jealous of Spike!"  She stopped.  "All right," she allowed.  "With recent revelations, I can understand that.  But please, like I'd ever respond to him.  He's a vampire!"

            Angel cleared his throat, and she shot him a look.  "You don't count.  He enjoys killing, he doesn't care – or before when he had the chip he didn't.  I mean, he's only not hurting people because he can't.  Not because he doesn't want to."

            Angel didn't reply, uncomfortable.  It was all true, but she'd all but admitted she was fond of him herself anyway, and as they'd discussed the night before, it wasn't something he could help.  Situations changed.  People changed.  Feelings… might change on the surface, but deep down, they rarely did.

            She sighed, and hopped down off the headstone.  "I don't know.  If you're worried about my safety, don't be.  I can handle him if ever becomes a threat again.  I just don't see him as one now.  I see him as a potentially valuable ally, or at least asset."  She looked up at him, smiling, but a little uncertain.  "Do you think I'm crazy?"

            Since he was thinking along the exact same lines as regarded Spike, the honest answer would have been 'yes,' but he shook his head.  "No.  As long as you don't forget who he really is."

            She breathed out, stuck with unhappy thoughts, and turned towards home.  "I can't stay out too late.  Giles is at the house, but I promised Dawn."  

He followed her back to her house, and stood at the bottom of the steps.  "Do you want to come in?" she offered.

He shook his head.  "Unless you want me.  I'll let Dawn have some time with you."

Buffy's face grew a little more somber as she opened the door, and headed into the empty feeling house.

Angel stood on the front lawn a while, watching the house, thinking, until it occurred to him that Spike would be working himself into a horrible mood if he didn't get back to the crypt soon.

True to form, by the time he returned, Spike was sulking in his chair, staring at the TV screen, which had God knew what showing, with a half-empty bottle in his hand.  Angel sighed.

Spike refused to look up, glaring at the screen.  "Have fun snogging in the cemetery with the Slayer?"

"There was no 'snogging,'" he retorted, pulling his coat off tiredly.  "She wanted company, Spike."

"Sure, like she wanted company after her mum's funeral?"

Angel let out a frustrated breath, snapping off the television.  "No, like she needed someone to patrol with, so she wouldn't be alone.  You could have come," he pointed out.  "You didn't have to stay here."

"Yeah, the three of us.  That would have gone over real well.  Why didn't you just stay?"

Angel looked at the floor uncomfortably.  "All right, I admit it.  I'm weak.  But I'm only here for a few days, for her, and I'm supposed to not see her?"

"Wasn't that the plan when you left?"

"Dammit."  He took a deep breath, looking into Spike's eyes.  "If you weren't going to go with her, someone had to."

Spike snorted sarcastically.  "Yeah, and that should have been me.  Get it through your head, you big poof: she doesn't want me.  She wants you.  She will always want you."  He took another swig from his bottle, settling into his chair dejectedly.

"Well she can't have me," Angel snapped sorely.  "Remember?"  

They glared at each other for a moment, and then the older vampire sighed, and perched himself on the arm of Spike's chair, holding out his hand for the liquor bottle.  Spike handed it to him wordlessly, and he took a swig before passing it back.

"We're screwed," he said presently, after the alcohol had worked a faint, pleasant numbness on his brain.

Spike took the bottle back and only nodded.


	6. Arguments From the Crypt

Spike rolled the bottle in his hands, head leaned back lazily against the chair's back.  "Why can't things just be like this, the way they used to be?" His voice was light, but with a very real hint of wistfulness in it.

"They aren't the way they used to be," Angel replied darkly, shattering Spike's light mood.  "For one thing, there aren't any dead bodies around, and for another, I haven't hit you yet."

Spike raised his head, looking at his sire in surprise.  "That all you remember?  You're missing the good stuff.  Guess you don't remember hunting as so much fun now, being it resulted in those deaths you're so guilty over, but those were good times, mate.  And there were good times that didn't have to do with killing.  You really don't miss it sometimes?"

"Sure," he answered bitterly.  "There were the nightly murders and brutalizations, the having of your girl whenever I felt like it, and oh, yeah, more beating you to a pulp.  How could I not miss that?"  He drank some more from the bottle he held.  

Spike looked less than pleased, as well, at that version of the pack's actions, and he was quiet for a minute.  "That really all you remember?" he finally asked in a low tone.

Angel stopped, staring at his hands, knowing what it was Spike wanted him to remember.  Not just the fact of killing, or even the violence in it, but the nights before killing or even in lieu of killing spent out on the town, dancing with the girls in high parties or balls, or in some rundown country dance hall.  Darla always liked the upper class parties, and Dru liked the pretty dresses there, but Spike had always liked slumming it.  Mostly Angel thought that was just so he could be difficult and piss he and Darla off.  Or nights out in bars, mostly just he and Spike.  Sometimes just roaming the streets, having whatever fun they felt, pulling stupid stunts like racing the dawn back home, or taking on ridiculous numbers of demons or humans, just to show they could do anything.  Days and nights spent in whatever five star hotel or abandoned mine shaft they found themselves in, with nothing to do but sleep, sex, drink, and talk.  It was the latter two that he and Spike had shared the most, and cumulatively, there had probably been months of it.  And then there was the hunting, the killing.  The faces that haunted him every night, but at the same time, the remembrance of the sheer pleasure of laying the trap, seducing prey, or violent deaths, long gruesome ones, blood everywhere, more for fun than hunger, the sweet way it filled him, as butcher's blood never did.  And there was working as some horrible team, like a pack of wolves: merciless, bloodthirsty, and savage.  And always, always, as a pack.  God, he missed it more than he could bear sometimes.  Having a soul didn't make that thirst for blood and violence go away; it just made him feel bad about doing it.  So he didn't.  But miss when he could, and didn't care?  He hated himself for the answer he wanted to give.  No, that wasn't all he remembered at all.  

"Yes," he lied, desperately backpedaling, piling grave dirt on all the memories being resurrected.  "There was pain, and I was the cause of it."  A half lie, to bury the truth Spike demanded, the truth that what they were doing now, sitting companionably, was exactly like old times, and he did miss it, constantly.  _What else was there?_ he wanted to conclude, but didn't, terrified of the answer Spike would provide.  He kept his head down, turning the bottle in his hands, and missed the look of betrayal that swept onto the younger vampire's face.

Hurt betrayal that quickly flared into anger.  "There was more than that," he spoke angrily, causing Angel to look up in apprehension, fearful of hearing the memories he didn't want to hear.  "There were relationships.  There were nights we didn't kill, that we sat around just like this, talking and getting as drunk as we could, just for the hell of it.  There were stupid, pointless things that we did, that we did together, and you were right there with me the whole time.  I know you better than anyone in the entire world, Angel, and don't you dare tell me you don't miss those days when we ran together."

"I don't," he interrupted, struggling to keep his voice steady and convince himself at the same time.  "I'm not the same person, and I don't miss it."  _Lies, _a voice whispered to him.  _All lies._  

Spike stared at him in dismay, and when he spoke again, his voice shook.  "Then what the _hell_ was that bullshit you said the other night about missing me?" His voice cracked on the last word, and he swallowed, eyes blazing in anxious anger.

Angel trembled, struggling to remain calm.  There were two sides of him, the demon underneath, that wanted the violence, the hard living, the vampire existence that had been absent for so long.  And then there was the soul, that condemned him, over and over, first for killing the people he had, second for enjoying it as he had, third for enjoying the memory as he still did, and all the things he associated with it, and fourth for wanting to go back.  And _him_, the strange part that seemed to follow in soul or in demon?  He wanted the old ways, without the people dying part.  Those days were home, and he wanted every part of it so badly, but at the same time to get as far away from that viciousness as possible, and never look upon it again.

"Spike," he finally begged.  "I didn't mean that I don't miss _you_, but it's complicated."

"Oh, really?  Because you sounded pretty damn sure a minute ago.  _Nothing_ good from back then, _all_ of it bad and if you could make it so it never happened, you probably be so happy you'd lose your bloody soul again!"  His eyes were bright again, and Angel flinched.  That wasn't what he meant.  He didn't know what he wanted.

"Spike, I told you," he tried again.  "_You_ were the only good part of back then.  And not just you, but everything we did together.  If I had done it alone, it would have been death, and evil, and I could hate it and say good riddance.  But you made it good, and I want to hate it, and I _can't_.  I hate that I killed all of those people, and I hate even more that I enjoyed it so much, and I hate that I can't hate it, because I did it with you, and I loved that."  He paused, struggling for words.  "It all haunts me every night, and I've resigned myself to hating it, because I can't separate the two parts.  And now you want me to remember it as good.  I can't, Spike.  I've tried, but I can't separate the two."

Spike glared at him, unwilling to take that as an apology.  "You stupid, gelled ponce!" he yelled in frustration and anger.  "_Nothing_ is black and white, and nothing can be separated!  Not you, not then, and not me!"  He gestured for emphasis.  "You remember it as both, or you block it from your memory, because it wasn't all good times for me either, but it sure as hell didn't suck."

Angel stared at him, trying to comprehend the very wise thing he thought Spike has just said.  It was just… "Every time I try, I feel like I'm lessening all their deaths," he confessed.

"They're dead," Spike pointed out icily.  "I'm still here."

Angel flinched again.  He knew.  He told Spike as much.  "But all it means is that I can make it up to you, and I can't to them.  Not ever.  And it'd just be worse if I forgot them."

Spike snorted, still hurt.  "Yeah, well making it up to me?  Not doing such a bloody brilliant job there."

Angel ran his hands through his hair helplessly.  "What do you want me to do?"

"You could start by not acting like the twenty years we spent together were the worst time of your life!" Spike cried, throat tight.  

Angel sighed shakily, left without a reply.  As his nightmares insisted, they had been.  And he couldn't tell Spike anything else without a "but," and he didn't want to hear that.

Spike waited, eyes fixed expectantly on Angel's bowed head.  And waited.  And finally turned, swallowing hard and taking his liquor bottle with him and storming down the ladder to the lower level.     

A/N: Yes, I started out all happy and left all angsty.  It was fun.  Has Angel gone too incredibly far OOC? Because at times I really felt like it, but I wanted him to say what he did, and I wasn't sure how else to write so that he could.  This wait wasn't so bad as the last one, was it? See, and with summer coming up, the next one might be out this fast, too! Just not right away, because I have exams next week.  Thanks so much to Jen, because you're my real life supporto gal, and to JSlayerUK, my Internet turned almost real life supporto gal (talking in real time makes you real, you know).  And to Lil Loki Puck, because you're just so cool! You guys are the best; you make me feel like what I'm doing is actually good and that it's worth continuing.  I'd continue for myself anyway, but knowing you guys (and I mean _all_ my reviewers) are reading and enjoying makes me absolutely giddy.  I love you guys!


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